Cough Syrup
by Doctor Harley Quinn
Summary: Spike has to give Dawn her cough medicine. Dawn doesn't want to take her cough medicine.
1. Cough Syrup

**Cough Syrup**

**- **

**a Buffy fic by Eccentric Banshee **

**- **

It's Joss's and Mutant Enemy's. Except for the NyQuil, which belongs to… the makers of NyQuil. Only the plot is mine. And don't you forget it, either.

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**WARNING**: The following one-shot includes excessive fluff that you might choke on while laughing, a Spike/Dawn pairing, a personal vendetta against cough medicine, and a rather gross way of giving someone aforementioned medicine. You have been warned. Don't flame me complaining that there was too much cough medicine or something.

_CLARIFICATION_ – This is to better the understanding of those who read this. This takes place in about 2006. The Scoobies, including Dawn, have returned from Europe to move to L.A., where Dawn attends college. Angel and Buffy are now an item. Spike and Buffy are now _not_ an item and haven't been for a good four or five years. Spike and Dawn are an unofficial and unannounced item, mostly due to the fact that Xander would probably go berserk if he found out that they're snogging behind his back. Willow, Xander, and Andrew are single, although the latter is beginning to experience an unhealthy attraction to the redhead. Thank you.

-

How did he even get himself into these messes?

Okay, it all started when he had awoken at about seven and decided to mosey on over to the Summers' residence to pay the group a visit. Not an unusual thing. Usually he stayed around after the Scoobies left on the occasion that Dawn stayed home (helping her 'study') as well.

However, on this rather momentous occasion, he had simply walked in the door- and immediately been assaulted by the older, blonder Summers, Buffy. "Spike!" she shrieked, fairly smashing into him. Only the reflexive catching of her upper arms saved her from an untimely descent to the floor.

"Didn't know you were that glad to see me, luv," he said with a smirk. She hit him. Hard. "Ow," he complained, releasing her and cupping a hand around his offended arm.

"Shut up, Spike," she snapped. According to the disheveled state of her hair and clothing, she hadn't been having the best night. They were joined quickly by the rest of the Scoobies- the Whelp, Red, and the nerd Spike always forgot the name of… a.k.a Xander, Willow, and Andrew. "Look," Buffy continued, "Dawn likes you, right?"

Spike was immediately on his guard. "What do you mean by _like_?" he asked, noting that Xander hadn't attacked him yet. That was a good sign… right?

"Like… you're buddies, pals, right?" Buffy wanted to know.

"Um… yeah, I guess?" he offered hesitantly.

"Good!" Buffy exclaimed, shoving something hard but pliable into his hands. "Then get her to take _that_. Xander, Willow- weapons. We've got to go."

"I'm not sticking around here," complained Andrew.

"Aw, that's too bad," said Xander, putting a 'sympathetic' hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Maybe you can go out and find some fellow Lex Luthor lovers and you can start a fan club."

"Don't throw off on Lex, man," Andrew warned. "There're plenty of people who like him who can kick your-"

"Ooo, I'm scared," Xander said, retrieving several stakes from the chest Willow had kicked open.

"Xander, stop it," Willow said. "You can come with us if you want, Andrew."

"Wait," Spike said, finally getting a word in as he realized Buffy had put a bottle of NyQuil in his hand. "Wha' am I s'posed to do, exactly?"

"Get Dawn to take her medicine."

"Why does she need medicine?" They all stopped in their tracks and stared at him. He scowled defensively, holding up the bottle and shaking it for emphasis. "Oy, it isn't as if I've _needed_ this the past century, have I? Your brain gets a little wonked-up."

"I'll say," muttered Xander. Willow and Buffy simultaneously pushed him and he fell back a couple of steps. "Hey, watch it!" he complained.

"You know she's had a cold recently, right?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"It's developed into a full-out cough. It's awful- sounds like wet washcloths smacking against her ribcage." Spike cringed at the mental image. "Anyway, you get her to take it and it'll take care of the rest." She pushed past the black-clad vampire out the door, followed by Willow, who squeezed Spike's shoulder sympathetically as she walked past.

"Good luck, man," Xander said in a rather hopeless tone as he strode by. Spike lifted a scarred eyebrow.

"What the…?" he demanded. Andrew began following the rest. "Wait, it can't be so bad as to make the Whelp wish me luck, can it?" Andrew sent a covert look around.

"Yeah, it can," he said quietly. "Even the four of us working together couldn't get it in her. Good luck." And without another word, he walked past and pulled the door shut behind him.

So here Spike was, standing in the middle of the foyer, reading perplexedly the instructions on the back of the bottle of red medicine, and then turning it over to read the label. "What the bloody…" he muttered, wanting to run a hand through his hair but not doing so, as it would mess it up and he didn't want that.

He heard a sudden sound from upstairs- it sounded like a twenty-year-old trying to keep herself from coughing.

Unsuccessfully.

A predatory gleam came alight in his eyes; a feral smile pulled the edges of his mouth upward as he walked slowly to the stairwell. "Oh, Daa-aawn," he called up aforementioned stairs.

Oh, that was lovely. He could almost hear her pulse quickening as his voice reached her. She was scared now- in enemy territory. Her sister and the friends she had known for a good ten years, she could deal with. A sporadic, extremely strong vampire that followed no rules, she couldn't- even through they were kind of dating.

He got no reply, and wasn't expecting one. Carefully, he put one black-booted foot on the bottom step and leaned on it, purposefully making it creak. Step. Step. He wanted to be sure she heard him coming- intimidation was a good thing in this circumstance… right?

Finally, after about a minute of this, he reached the top. The coughing sound was getting louder, and as there was only one closed door in the hallway… he had a good idea of where it was coming from.

Cautiously he pushed Dawn's door open, and the sound ceased immediately, only attributing to his guess that she was in here. He walked over and sat down on her bed, paused, and then gave a sigh. "Look, Bit, I know you're in here so you migh' as well let loose, eh?"

A few racking coughs from directly underneath him proved her to be a smart girl- someone else might have continued to crouch under the bed, eyes watering and hands shaking with the effort of holding in the coughing and hoping for him to go away. Not her. A slightly self-centered smirk came over his face as he heard her wheeze for air after the recent bout, but it vanished next time he spoke.

"Come on, pet- no good sittin' under there and breathing in dust bunnies. You'll just make it worse- come on out."

"Go screw yourself, Spike!" came her slightly muffled voice, and the smirk was back in full force.

"You want to do this the hard way?" he asked, trying to hide his glee. She told him to do something _extremely_ inappropriate- much more so than her last comment. "No call to be talking like that, Niblet," he said, climbing off the bed and crouching down.

Sullen silence.

He pulled up the dust cover to see her huddled there, brown hair brushing the floor. She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, and then he reached forward, grabbed her arm, and pulled. She didn't give in, pulling back as hard as she could. She was no real match for him, and it was obvious that she wasn't going to be able to slide out of his grip, so she did the only thing she could think of.

She cheated.

Spike gave a surprised yelp of pain as her sharp fingernails dug into his wrist, yanking back and, as a result, falling on his back. Dawn seized the opportunity and flew out from under the bed, jumping over the prone vampire as quickly as possible- not quickly enough, it seemed. He grabbed her ankle. She stomped on his fingers and with a howl he let go.

"HEY!" he barked after her as she stampeded down the stairs, coughing all the way. She slid to a stop at the door, pulling frantically at the handle. No dice. It was locked, and there was a very blonde, very ticked-off vampire rampaging down the stairs at this moment.

She shrieked and darted into the kitchen, but knew she hardly had a chance, hearing his boots pounding the floor behind her. She grabbed the corner of the wall, using it to keep herself steady as she rounded the corner in full force. He was right behind her.

He caught up with her in the living room, and she felt the wind being knocked out of her as he tackled her from behind, lunging and knocking her off her feet. They landed on the couch.

"Ow!" she shrieked, voice muffled by the cushion. "Spike! Get _OFF_ of me!"

"Actually, luv," he said with a smirk, "I find I'm rather comfortable."

"I can't breathe!" she shrieked.

"Oh," he said with a frown. "Well, in that case…" He rolled off of her rather reluctantly. She gasped for breath, and slowly, her diaphragm began to function again. Breathing properly now, she glared at him.

"What do you want from me!" she demanded, sounding furious. He fished the medicine out of his pocket and held it in front of her, shaking it lightly. Her eyes widened. "Oh, no. No way. No way are you making me take that hell-in-a-bottle."

"Care to wager on that, would you?" Her blue eyes widened, and she looked around, obviously ready to bolt. Seeing this, he quickly moved to sit on her outstretched legs, leaving her with an expression that told him she didn't know whether to laugh or shout at him.

"Spike!" she complained loudly. "Get off!"

"Not till you drink this, I will not," he said firmly. She made a face.

"Spike, have you ever tried cough medicine?"

"Never had to, have I?" he asked casually, examining his black fingernails.

"Then no wonder you're trying to get me to take it," she said reprovingly, clicking her tongue. He lifted a black eyebrow. "Try it," she said on an impulse. "I dare you."

"If you think I'm immature enough to respond to a dare-" he began.

"Chicken?" she suggested, wiggling her legs to try and dislodge him. His eyes narrowed.

"Dawn, I thought you were twenty, not two-"

"Yep. You are _so_ scared."

"Am not!"

"Then take some."

"I don't have to swallow some medicine to prove myself brave-"

"Scaredy-cat,"' she accused.

"I am not!" he repeated, this time more indignantly.

"Then take some," she repeated.

"I-"

"Chicken!"

"Dawn, you-"

"Fraidy-cat!"

"Fine!" he bellowed. "I will, if only to get you to shut your bloody trap!" She subsided with a smirk, and he took the cap off of the bottle, looking rather mistrustfully at the fluid.

"We're all waiting, Spike," Dawn said calmly. He glared at her. She smiled charmingly back at him.

"I'm going."

"Taking your sweet time about it," she pointed out. He glared and deliberately poured an ounce or so of the bright red fluid into the small cup the bottle provided.

"Cheers," he said, almost hesitantly lifting it towards her. She crossed her arms and watched with a smirk as he tipped it down his mouth.

He put the cup on the table, turning to gaze impassively at her. This was a bit hard to do, as a chorus of "_Oh, bloody hell, why the sodding hell did I take this bloody medicine! This stuff tastes worse than anything I've ever had in my life- it's thick and gooey and minty in a bad way and I just want puke_" was running through his mind repeatedly.

"Swallow," she prompted, and watched as he forced himself to do so.

"See? Nothing to it," he said, fighting back a grimace. "Tastes fine."

"Yeah… well, you might enjoy _your_ medicine, but-" a series of racking coughs interrupted her, and they sounded awful. Spike, moved to action by the noise, reached forward and gave her a few solid hits on the back. She eventually got over the fit.

"Honestly, Bit, you need to take some of that medicine," he said worriedly- and then, with a look of slight repulsion, "Although heaven knows how it can help."

"I'm not taking the medicine!"

"Then you'll get no snogging from me for a good while. I don't exactly want you hacking phlegm up into my mouth."

"Ew!" She cringed. "Spike, that was disgusting!" He shrugged, unconcerned.

"Just the truth, pet. Come on, take the stuff."

"No!" she shrieked, dislodging him quickly and darting to her feet. She was out of the room in an instant before he recovered. He rose to his feet, intending to pursue, and then caught sight of the bottle and an idea struck him.

-

Dawn stuck her head around the corner, a bit warily. She hadn't seen Spike for a good minute- that in itself served to make her suspicious. She emerged, looking around for the black-clad vampire. He was nowhere in sight.

Hesitantly, she began searching the house. She couldn't find him. She was beginning to get a bit worried when she turned the corner and smacked directly into him. She braced herself to run, but he caught her shoulders and by the strength of his grip, she could tell he meant business. She looked up defiantly into his face and merely had time to note that it looked a bit odd before he bent down and his lips met hers.

She was a little freaked out now. This was weird. Pleasant, but weird. A second later, a strange taste filled her mouth, and she compulsively swallowed- only to come away from the kiss hacking and coughing. "SPIKE!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

The vampire stood there, arms crossed, an extremely self-satisfied look on his face. His incensed girlfriend glared at him.

"Spike!" she repeated. "You just gave me mouth-to-mouth cough medicine!" The venom in the words rivaled her sister's rejections of him so many years ago. He lifted a careless shoulder.

"Only thing I could think of, luv. You wouldn't take it otherwise. And if you weren't so bloody stubborn-" He cut himself off as Dawn began to laugh helplessly, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his mouth. He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms. "No snogs, luv, not right now. You're still prone to coughing any second."

"Fine," she said, although her voice was a bit sulky. "There's a Passions marathon on right now- I need to wash out my mou-"

"Why didn't you bloody say so?" he fairly yelped.

"They aren't new episodes, just-"

"Doesn't bloody matter! Come on!" He pulled her forcibly to the living room, collapsing on the couch and pulling her down with him. She landed half on his lap, and, smacking him lightly for making her do so, moved over so that she was nestled next to him instead of half on top of him. He handed her the remote, and she cut on the TV as he stretched an arm out around her, already absorbed in his all-time favorite soap opera that several years had failed to replace with another better one.

The Scooby gang, returning about three hours later, found the vampire and the younger Summers in a… quite comfortable position later. Spike's arm was around Dawn, holding her tightly, and she didn't seem disinclined to the position at all, her sleeping face buried in his neck. His head was leaning on hers, and they were both asleep in front of the still active television.

Needless to say, Xander flipped out.

**Finis**


	2. Cigarette Tips

**Cigarette Tips**

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© 2005 Sara Parker

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Disclaimer: Most of it belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I, Eccentric Banshee, only own the general plot and any characters I happen to create along the way.

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**WARNING**: The following is a fluffy bit in which there will be mild Spike/Dawn, an annoying store clerk, a crazed peroxide-blonde vampire, a disgruntled slayer's sister, a motorcycle, and cigarette cravings. If you like, you may picture this about two weeks after the previous chapter, _Cough Medicine_, though neither must be read to better the understanding of the other. You have been warned.

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It was after midnight when the craving hit.

He's just finished beating up some random vampires that had decided to pick on him when he felt it, sudden and hard. He needed a cigarette, and he needed one badly. Dropping the piece of wood he'd broken from a pallet to create a makeshift stake, he looked in the pocket of his black leather duster that usually contained cigarettes, and a look of surprise crossed his pale face when he realized that it was empty.

An expression of comical panic that would have had Faith in stitches had she been there came over his face as he began rapidly searching the other pockets of the coat and, in a last-ditch effort, the pockets of his black jeans before facing the fact- he was completely and irrevocably out of fags.

Needless to say, this realization did _not_ make Spike very happy.

Five minutes later, he was scanning a convenience store for a pack, finally selecting the one he wanted and pointing it out to the clerk, a bored-looking blonde who raised an eyebrow challengingly at the vampire, chomping on her gum.

"ID," she requested.

Spike froze. _Please, oh please, oh please_, he thought, searching his pockets one at a time, but the investigation yielded no results. He groaned as he realized that he'd left his fake ID in England, in a lodge nightstand.

"Listen, luv," he said, laying on the charm and leaning across the counter with an appealing smile, "I seem to have left it at home… there's no need, though. I'm twenty-one and _then_ some."

One of her perfectly-tweezed eyebrows darted upwards, and as a small smile came over her face he thought that he might be getting through to her. Her next words dashed those hopes. "Uh-huh, right. Why don't you tell me your _real_ age, sporto?" His grin faded.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he mumbled, pulling back.

"Try me." He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, but his temper was quickly getting the best of him.

"One hundred and twenty-seven," he responded snappishly. "Just let me buy the bloody cigarettes."

"Nice try, Billy," she said skeptically.

_Bloody hell, _another_ Idol reference? Can't these people get more creative?_

"Come back when you're twenty-one," she finished.

Spike fumed, but turned and stalked out of the store, climbing on his motorcycle and debating on what to do next. There was no time to go create a fake ID that would work. He was already going slightly catatonic from loss of nicotine. He missed the feel of the smoke in his closed mouth before the exhale. He took it for granted.

Rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he inwardly cursed. He _really_ needed a fag. He blamed his soul. If he didn't have that damned conscience now, he would have just stolen a box, like he'd done for decades. Now, it apparently wasn't allowed.

_Dawn._

The name hit him like a ray of unexpected light. Dawn! She was twenty-one, right? Oh, right, she was only twenty… but she _did_ have a very realistic fake ID, issued to her by Wolfram and Hart (she had convinced Peaches to pull some strings) in case she had an emergency. She could buy a box of smokes for him. She might be a bit peeved at being awoken at 12:42 AM, but she'd get over it and he was certain he could sweet-talk her into doing what he wanted.

Cranking the bike, he revved off towards Dawn's house.

-

Dawn was fairly certain that whoever was throwing rocks at her window deserved an ass-kicking, and very soon. Growling to herself and wondering if she should wake up Buffy in case it was some weird rock-throwing demon- and then remembering that Buffy was gone tonight, something with Angel- she tumbled out of bed, still in her silky pajamas.

Rubbing her head with a scowl, she moved over to the window and pushed it open, fully intending to bawl out whoever it was and to hell with the neighbors. She didn't expect the peroxide blonde vampire on the lawn, looking up at her with pleading eyes that made her resolve instantly melt. He was in distress, obviously. She poked her head out.

"Spike," she whisper-yelled. "What's _wrong_?"

"Niblet, I need you," he said, his voice almost a whimper as he shifted from one foot to another. Her concern grew.

"What's happened?"

"Please, just grab your wallet and get dressed and come down here." She sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to tell her anything else, and pulled back, shutting the window.

A wallet, her keys, a pair of flares, an elastic band to hold back her long hair, and a square-neck tie-back top later, she crossed the lawn to him. "What's wrong?" she repeated, honestly afraid for him.

"I need a pack of fags," he said, blue eyes shifting back and forth. She stopped short, crossed her arms, pulled her slack jaw up and looked at him as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You… _what_?" she said carefully.

"Fags! I need some smokes, Dawn, _really_ badly," he said, giving her the beseeching look that could melt through stone. Well, Dawn wasn't stone; she was a glowy green ball of energy currently encased in the skin of a very pissed-off twenty-year old.

"You woke me up after a very tiring night for _cigarettes?"_ she demanded, voice lifting. "_What_ is your problem!"

"Please, Bit!" he begged. "I'm going bloody mad here!"

"You're _really_ addicted," she said in an undertone, before she said, "Why didn't you get your _own?_"

"ID," Spike said, almost growling. Bad experience, obviously. Dawn rolled her eyes.

"You can wait. I've already wasted five precious sleep-minutes, and doubtless it'll be twenty more until I get to sleep. I'm out of here," she said, turning away. Spike's hand shot forward.

"Dawn! I'm _begging_ you!" he cried. She turned towards him, eyes wide.

"Wow. You're having a _bad_ craving, aren't you?" she wanted to know. He just intensified the pleading look, and she found herself softening. Still, she had to let him know that he couldn't just take this for granted. She rubbed her chin. "Okay, you're paying for this, right?"

"Yes, yes," he agreed earnestly, sensing that she was thawing.

"Would you cover some twizzlers for me?"

"_What_?"

"Oh, c'mon, I've got to have _some_ compensation."

"My gratitude isn't enough?" She gave him a _what-do-you-think_ look. He raised his fists to his temples. "All _right_, all right! Let's just _go!_" He began pulling her towards the motorcycle, but she yanked back.

"My car!" she insisted.

"_Fine_," he said, giving into anything now. She gave a happy squeal and raced for the vehicle.

-

Five minutes later, Dawn stood in front of the same store clerk, having selected the cigarettes and twizzlers and handed over her ID and money. The clerk seemed suspicious, eyeing it from every angle, and Dawn just rolled her eyes, fingers in her back right pocket, playing with the lighter Spike had left at the house a few days ago and that she'd tucked into her pocket to return later. The clerk wasn't going to find anything. The ID had been made by an actual law practice- not necessarily _legally_, but everything was in order.

"Have a nice night," said the clerk grudgingly, finally sliding the ID, twizzlers, and cigarettes over the counter towards Dawn. The brunette gave her a sweet smile- after all, the woman had managed to tick off Spike, a plus in Dawn's book.

Dawn left the store, fingers of her left hand hooked in the pockets of the slightly tight jeans that showcased every curve- in a decent manner, though; these were her _no-freaking-out-Giles_ jeans- right hand holding to the items she held. Taking her time, she strode towards her car, pretending not to see the panic-stricken vampire in her shotgun seat.

A positively evil idea struck her and she quickened her pace, fishing out the lighter with her free hand as she slid into the car. Spike was on her like white on rice.

"Give 'em to me!" he insisted.

"All in good time," she said, cranking up the car and rolling down her window before drawing a fingernail along the package and opening it. He watched in muted impatience, and horror slowly crossed his face as he realized what she was doing.

Slowly, she drew out a cigarette, and setting the pack to her side where Spike couldn't reach it, she lit up.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Spike said, staring at her in disbelief. Dawn had been known to smoke the occasional cigarette when she was stressed, though it was by no means a habit- she didn't like the way it made her hair and clothes smell, though she pointedly ignored that when Spike was around.

She put the cigarette in her mouth and drew very, very slowly on it. Spike watched in extreme frustration. Turning her head, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment, she then aimed and exhaled it towards him. He breathed in, thankful for anything- even secondhand smoke- at this point.

After a few more moments of this, watching her mouth transport the smoke his way, he became aware that his craving for cigarettes was becoming secondary priority, and that his craving for Dawn was taking precedence.

One more puff and he lunged for her. She mistook his sudden attack as desire for the cigarette, and immediately ducked to the side with a squeal, sheltering the pack from his reach with her body. "Back off, dead boy!" she shrieked.

"Bloody hell," Spike grunted when her elbow dug into his stomach. "Just… come… here!" He got a grip on her shoulders and forcibly turned her towards him, moving forward immediately to close the distance between their mouths.

She quickly realized what was tormenting him, and using her free hand, reached up to the back of his head, pulling herself closer to him, and finding that it wasn't enough she reached out the window with her other hand and flicked the cigarette out onto the pavement before curling her fingers around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss even further.

A few minutes later, the cigarette burned out on the concrete, completely forgotten by the otherwise occupied inhabitants of the car.

**Finis**

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**A/N - **As you can see, I've given in to some requests by reviewers to continue this, and so I will- this will now be a series of one-shots, probably not updated regularly, but hopefully fun when a new shot is put up. Enjoy :)**  
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